“So how exactly are you still alive after all this time?”

I’m sitting on an overly fancy chair with Izahne and Omorth standing at my sides while the ancient daemon kneels at my feet.

“This one survives only by the grace of her mistress,” she rasps back.

I can’t help but sigh. Almost everything I ask draws an answer like that.

Fine. I can play that game.

“Elaborate,” I say with a dismissive gesture.

She smiles without looking up. “Her mistress bid this one to await here for her return, to keep the torch of her faith alight. And this one does obey.”

“Great. That doesn’t answer the question.”

“This one does beg her majesty’s mercy. Nature compels, and this one is no different.”

I stare at her flatly.

A moment later, I notice Abaris is waving from the front of the room – he and Pearl followed us inside but then just stood awkwardly near the entrance as though they didn’t know where they were supposed to be.

I gesture toward him. “Speak.”

“I believe what she is trying to convey is that it’s her nature to be indirect and contrary, possibly as a result of her previous race,” he says. Meanwhile, Pearl is nodding furiously.

Hmm.

I turn back to the prostrated daemon. “Is that true?”

“Her majesty is correct.”

“Finally, a direct answer,” I can’t help but snap.

But I can’t help but wonder if there was some other technicality she’s referring to. I’ll probably never know, especially if I’m dependent on her answers to find out.

Whatever.

“I still don’t know your name.”

She says nothing. Well, my mistake; I didn’t word that as a question, so of course she didn’t answer.

Ugh.

“What is your name?” I ask.

She’s silent for a moment, and I’m just about to ask again when she finally speaks. “This one’s designation was given by her mistress and belongs to her mistress, much as this one does. This one has been informed that her mistress has perished, and yet her mistress lives within another. This one will need a new designation in service of this one’s new yet old mistress.”

“More circles? Fine. What was the designation your previous mistress gave you?”

Aha, discomfort? I can’t help but look forward to breaking ‘this one’.

“...This one was once known as ‘Olive’.”

…

Really?

“That’s it?”

“Yes, her majesty.”

I rub the bridge of my nose, absentmindedly scattering some of my ash from the action. “Very well. Rejoice, oh servant,” I say flatly, “from this day forward, you shall once again be known as Olive.”

I feel a fourth bond flare in my mind. Heh? Was that supposed to happen?

(I mean. You did just accept her as a servant. Maybe that’s all it takes for uhhhh... You know what, I have no idea. Maybe it’s because she was Astraea’s, and she’s at least technically part of you,) Nyx shrugs.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

...Is she literally weeping?

Gods, she is.

And while I watch on, her body explodes into a ball of blue flame.

Was THAT supposed to happen?

Before I’ve had enough time to process my shock, the flame narrows and then fades into the shape of a pale-skinned human with two furry protrusions from its head and six more from its back. She raises a hand and a second burst of blue fire rolls across her body, extinguishing into a set of white robes not too unlike my own.

Returning to her hands and knees, Olive says, “This one serves.”

Abaris seems to have shaken off his own shock because he blurts, "Of course! That would certainly explain it!”

“What explains what?” I ask.

“You can’t trust what a fox spirit says!” Pearl says. “They always talk in circles!”

I look back at Olive. “You are a fox spirit?”

The foxkin grins, showing teeth a bit sharper than a human’s. “This one is a daemon.”

I sigh. “Alright, I think I see what they’re saying.”

EVEN MORE ANNOYING! Gods, how did I get stuck with this? I could probably just ki –

The sharp stabbing pain I feel through master’s pact is quite effective. Fine. I guess I won’t be killing the annoying fox spirit.

But I’m certainly not looking forward to dealing with this.

“Why did you look different before?” I can’t help but ask.

“When light abandons the night, it is a dark thing indeed.”

I rub the bridge of my nose a little harder.

(Yeah, how does it feel?) my former Assistant says.

How does what feel?

She chuckles. (Dealing with an idiot-by-nature?)

Yeah, I knew that was going to turn into some kind of jab.

***

I’ve ordered Olive to never, ever, ever use that barrier around me, since it seems to be antithetical to my and my kin’s existence. The grin she gave me in return dripped with silent glee, as if she was incredibly pleased with herself that she’d been given her master’s deadly weakness or something.

I’m going to let her believe that. If she ever tries it though she’s going to be disappointed to find that all it does is repel me. A barrier won’t stop me from stabbing her with my will through our bond.

Although I do have a feeling that she might get even more pleasure from physically moving me around with it.

Ugh.

I activate the house key to set the portal so my party can rest for the night when the fox spirit prostrates herself again.

“What is it now?”

“If her please her majesty, this one has maintained the temple’s living spaces. They should still meet her mistress’ needs and expectations,” she says.

Huh.

(She’s telling you to sleep in the temple.)

Yeah, yeah. I know what she said.

I offer Izahne a questioning look.

She scrutinizes the daemon for a moment before saying, “If you want to.”

Aha! I recognize that phrasing! It means she doesn’t want to!

“It’s not just me. Do you want to? If not, we can just stay in the house as usual. I don’t particularly care, personally.”

In the corner of my eye, I notice Olive quiver. I have no idea what that was all about, so I’m just going to choose to ignore it.

My consort sighs after a moment. “We can stay in the temple for the night, I guess.”

“Oh. Oh, this one is pleased! This one shall prepare your living space immediately!” Olive chatters, practically leaping to her feet and running demurely toward the temple doors before apparently losing her patience and flying toward the building instead, trailing a sparkly blue mist.

I have a bad feeling about this, but I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle. Olive’s bond is absolutely bubbling with happiness, although there’s definitely an undercurrent of mischief to it.

***

Alright, so this room is way too opulent. Like, even for the strong sense of entitlement simmering in the back of my mind insisting I not only deserve this, but I deserve more.

The intricately carved bed has an oversized geometric canopy suspended on six wooden columns, all of it uniformly lacquered in a way that gives it an appearance as smooth as polished stone. The fabrics are all way too smooth – Izahne has informed me that they’re apparently called ‘silks’.

While there is other furniture in the room, it’s all set farther back, with a wide cushioned lounge to one side facing three chairs that not only look less comfortable but are actually shorter than it. A low table stands between them with a glass drinking set to one side.

The rest of the room is decorated with fancy carvings and more draped silks. Aside from the entrance, this ridiculous bedroom has three more doors – one for staff, one leading to the baths, and one for ‘relieving mortal needs’ apparently. She can’t even say that normally.

Whatever.

My consort and I perform our usual routine – specifically, me changing into my pajamas while Izahne shrieks as her own nightwear misses her body and she scrambles to catch it, and I look away because she acts especially weird if I don’t. The only thing different from usual is the sudden addition of Olive, who insisted it was her duty to ‘aid her mistress in preparing for the night’. She actually looked disappointed when I simply swapped clothing using my dimensional storage, but she’ll get over it.

Not even a full hour after the fox spirit left the room and Izahne and I retired to the bed, I hear the door quietly creak. It’s soon followed by the sound of Olive’s feet quietly padding across the room, with her body barely obscured by the single sheet of silk she holds across her chest.

“What are you doing?” I ask, causing her to flinch.

“Ah, her majesty,” she coos, “does she not rest well? Are the accommodations not to her liking?”

I sigh. “I don’t sleep unless I completely run out of mana, I have a lot of it so that almost never happens. Now answer the question: what are you doing?”

She flicks her tails and turns to the side, posing as though to show off her body. “This one is here to provide night service.”

…

“Get out,” I flatly say.